Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) (24 page)

twenty-three

Tiffany curled up beneath Ramsey’s protective arm and snuggled closer to his heart, turning to the side so she could wrap her legs around his—there just wasn’t an inch of extra space in the oversized chair and ottoman, and while the afghan covered her nicely, he was hanging out on both ends.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

Wow.
Just… wow.

“You good?” he asked in that deep, raspy voice.

She smiled. “I’m very good at the moment, thank you.”

He absently brushed her hair out of her eyes and shifted in the chair, trying to get more comfortable.

“So,” she said in a lazy voice, “tell me more about you.”

He ran his palm down her arm and then gently caressed her back. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He chuckled. “Could you be more specific?”

She burrowed deeper into his arms.
Let’s see, what do I really want to know about this mysterious guy?
It was probably better to start simple. “Red or blue?”

“Excuse me?” he said dubiously. She loved the tenor of his voice.

“Red or blue?” she repeated.

“Blue.”

“Why?”

He paused. “It’s more mellow than red.”

She propped herself up on her arm and gazed into his eyes as if looking for the truth. “You consider yourself mellow?”

He shrugged.

“Fine.” She settled back into his arms. “Rock-and-roll, jazz-and-blues, or classical?”

“Rock.”

She thought some more. “Hot or cold? The beach or the mountains? Racquetball or swimming?”

He laughed out loud, and the sound was both resonant and melodic, almost inviting. “Where do you come up with these questions? Cold. The mountains. And we have an indoor pool.”

She sighed. “Oh yeah, that’s true.”

“Never racquetball,” he added to her surprise, “too frilly for my taste.”

“Frilly?” she asked. “How is racquetball frilly?”

“Dancing around with a little paddle in your hand, trying to work up a sweat with some basic hand-eye coordination—not very challenging for a vampire.”

“Ah,” she said, “so you’ve tried it?”

“Nope,” he answered. “Too frilly.”

This time she laughed out loud. “Okay, so the questions are going to get harder.”

He waited, clearly undaunted. “I think I can handle it.”

“Playful or serious? Happy or sad? Saxson or Santos?”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “Seriously? I don’t even know what that last question means.”

“Just answer,” she prompted.

He sighed. “I can be playful… with someone who knows me. I take a lot of things seriously, but not everything. Happy or sad?” He scrunched up his handsome face. “Damn, Blondie. I guess the first thing I’d say is this: These are all black-or-white questions. In most things, I’m some shade of gray. Happy? Do I skip down the lane, marveling at the birds and the bees?”

“No!” she interjected decisively.

“No,” he said more softly. “But do I lock myself in my room, listen to sad violin music, and bemoan the fact that the world’s a gloomy place? Absolutely never. Not in a million years.”

She pondered his answer. “Because you don’t think about things like that?”

He tilted his head to the side, thinking. “I don’t
take on
things like that. If I see something that bothers me, I handle it. If I see something I want to change, I change it. If I see something that’s none of my business, I keep walking.”

Tiffany nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

He sniffed. “When you live as long as I have, you learn a few things about staying sane: The mind can be a paradise or a prison. Depending on what you choose to give your attention to, it can be a place to retreat or a place you need to escape—and then you’re in a world of hurt. I don’t choose to think about things that don’t directly affect my experience.”

Tiffany grew quiet, contemplating his words. Once again, this enigmatic male seemed to be so much deeper than she initially thought. “And as for your brothers?”

This time he frowned. “Do I have a
favorite
?” There was a slight hint of disapproval in his voice, but she didn’t take offense. None seemed intended.

“No,” she said. “Are you closer to one than the other, maybe your twin?”

Ramsey grew quiet on a different level, one of careful introspection. He looked off into the distance as if really thinking it over, and then he cleared his throat. “It’s different, the way I relate to each one.” His top lip twitched, almost imperceptibly. “Saxson is my twin; so yeah, there’s definitely a different bond between us. We’ve always existed together. But Santos, he’s the oldest, and after our parents died, he tried to step in and take some sort of quasi-parental role in our lives: provide stability, act as a mentor, take the lead whether it was needed or not.” He chuckled softly. “I think he just tried to stand in the gap.”

Tiffany drew a light, zigzagging line over his chest, just above his heart, scarcely aware that she was doing it. “And you let him? Both you and Saxson let him? I mean, as strong and independent as you both are?”

Once again, Ramsey paused for a moment before responding. “I’m not much of a follower, never have been. I don’t necessarily have to lead, and I don’t follow so well, but with Santos, I make an exception. That role—what he tried to do for me and Saxson—it’s part of his identity.” He shrugged. “I can’t really speak for Saxson, why he went along, but I imagine he had similar reasons.”

She nodded and decided to change the subject. “I think, for me, I was an only child, so I never really practiced leading or following. I pretty much just carved out a comfortable place in my own skin, if that makes any sense.”

He grunted. “And your parents? Did they spoil you?”

She laughed. “A little, yes, but I wasn’t a princess, not by a long shot. My parents, Joe and Rita, inherited a generational farm back in North Carolina. It was a good life, but a lot of hard work. I was especially close to my nana before she passed. She might have spoiled me a bit.”

Ramsey brushed an errant wisp of hair out of her eyes, then pressed an easy, unexpected kiss against her temple. “So how did you end up in San Francisco with our queen… with Brooke?”

Tiffany felt her expression lighten as her smile broadened. “Ambition. Inspiration.
Determination
. Brooke and I met in college in North Carolina. I fell in love with graphic design, and she fell in love with marketing, with all things PR. I wanted to go where the best opportunity was, and she convinced me that was San Francisco. We both landed jobs with PRIMAR, right after graduation, continued our education over the years, and I guess the rest is history.”

Ramsey pulled her closer, his warm breath wafting across her forehead. “So your parents were supportive?”

“Oh yeah,” she answered, emphatically. “They always were. They still are.”

He nodded. “And what do they think of you living here, in Dark Moon Vale?”

She sighed. “Well, obviously, they don’t know
everything
, but since I’ve always kind of followed Brooke—in work and play—it wasn’t a hard sell. It made sense.”

He shifted his weight in the armchair and ottoman then. “And what do you think they’re going to make of me? Your new mate—husband?”

Tiffany started, still shocked by the sound of those words and their meaning, still shocked at the easy, blunt way Ramsey had of just putting it all out there on the table. “I think… well… most likely… ” She grimaced. “Oh, God.”

He laughed.

“You’re kind of scary,” she whispered, hoping it did not offend him.

He shifted forward on his side, in order to see her more clearly, and flashed a devilish grin. “They’re going to love me,” he teased. And then his eyes grew dark and shadowed with desire. “And so are you.”

She looked up at him and gasped, swearing her heart had just skipped a beat.

“I’m not that scary,” he whispered, dipping down to plant a convincing, sensual kiss firmly on her lips. True to his nature, Ramsey went straight to the heart of the matter, taking control as if she were simply
his
to command—at will—and by the way her body reacted, flooding with warmth, heating with instant passion, he had every right to assume it was true.

He brushed her top lip with his tongue and then traced her bottom lip with the same in an erotically playful stroke of invitation. “It’ll all work out, baby doll.” He breathed the words into her mouth, and then he
growled
, deep and low in his throat.

Ramsey Olaru was done talking.

And so was Tiffany Matthews.

twenty-four

One week later

Tiffany sank deep into the luxurious hot tub, letting her head fall back against a form-fitting pillow. It was a hauntingly beautiful night outside, and the invigorating water was just what the doctor ordered. As she gazed up at the blue-black sky, she couldn’t help but think everything was just the way it should be: The moon shimmered like a soft, golden halo, crowning a peaceful scattering of stars; the sweet scent of pine mixed with juniper filled the crisp mountain air; and a soft breeze tickled her skin, cooling the bite of the otherwise sweltering heat.

Just then, someone knocked on the patio door, the elegant glass slid open, and Tiffany sat upright, turning down the jets, to see who it was.

Ramsey would never knock like that to alert her.

Hell, Ramsey wouldn’t alert her at all.

He would probably just step right through the glass, using his vampiric powers, and leap into the hot tub from twenty feet away, shocking the breath right out of her. She giggled to herself, thinking of all the amazing things Ramsey could actually do.

Making love was at the top of that list.

“Hey there, you,” Brooke called, stepping out onto the patio. She was clutching the collar of a plush terrycloth robe, and Tiffany almost squealed with glee, realizing that her
bestie
had come to spend time with her.

“Brookie!” She waved her hand with excitement.

Brooke’s smile lit up her deep blue eyes as she made her way to the hot tub, laid her heavy robe on a nearby patio chair, and slowly climbed the stairs, entering the water gingerly. “Ah,” she moaned as the water began to envelop her, steering a path to an adjacent, corner seat.

Tiffany turned the jets back on, swam across the liquid expanse to give her best friend a hug, and then made her way back to the lounge chair. “I didn’t know you were coming,” she said cheerfully.

“Yep,” Brooke answered, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes. “Napolean wanted to talk to Ramsey, so I thought I’d surprise you.”

Tiffany smiled broadly, even though Brooke couldn’t see it—she just felt happy. Indeed, all was just perfect with the world tonight.

A moment of companionable silence passed, and then Brooke opened her eyes and regarded Tiffany with her peripheral vision. “So?” Her eyebrows shot up in question.

“So?” Tiffany mimicked, knowing she shouldn’t tease.

Brooke let out an exasperated sigh. “So… you’re obviously
alive.”

Tiffany laughed. “I am.”

Brooke sat up straight and leaned forward to stare at the woman she considered a sister. “And you’re… ” She waited, letting the words linger.

Tiffany shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what you mean.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a mischievous hint of a smile.

“Oh c’mon, Tiff; don’t do this. You’re… still human? Not human? Part Martian?”

Tiffany laughed. She wanted to draw out the suspense, tease her friend just a little bit longer, but she knew she could never pull it off. Brooke just had a way of wringing information out of her… quickly. She ran her tongue along her front teeth, pausing to emphasize her canines.

Brooke threw up her hands in true frustration this time. “They look the same, Tiffany! Just tell me!”

Tiffany practically bounced in the water as she shot up in the lounge chair, leaned forward, and exclaimed, “Yes! Yes.
Yes
: It’s done. I’m just like you now.” She frowned. “Well, maybe with a slightly smaller ass.”

“Hey!” Brooke objected, “My
assets
are positively perfect. Just ask Napolean.” And then she nearly shrieked with delight, turning to the subject at hand. “Are you serious? Oh my god!
Oh-my-god
.” Her expression turned serious. “Was it awful?”

Now this made Tiffany roll her eyes. Was Brooke kidding? “Um, no,” she said, “awful is too soft of a term.
Awful
is a word you use to describe a bitter apple or a poorly acted movie, maybe some really unpleasant weather. Being converted, as you well know, is more along the lines of torturous, excruciating, the Spanish Inquisition in the modern age.” She glared at her best friend defiantly. “Yes, it was awful! It was the single most painful, unbearable, absolutely horrific experience of my life.”

Brooke grimaced and sank deeper into the corner chair of the hot tub, kindly averting her eyes. “How long?”

“Six hours,” Tiffany said.

“Ohhhh, gods… ”

“Yeah,” Tiffany quipped, and then she thought better of making a federal case out of her experience: After all, Brooke’s conversion had been far, far worse. Napolean had been possessed by a demon at the time, and the demon had spared Brooke zero suffering when he’d converted her in a meadow, feverish to inflict as much pain through brutality as he could. The entire ordeal had been a nightmare.

“How was Ramsey?” Brooke asked pointedly, interrupting Tiffany’s thoughts. “I mean, how was he with you?”

Tiffany shrugged. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but share. “I don’t know. I don’t really remember his demeanor, although I’m sure he tried to be as gentle as he could.” She sighed. “To me, he was just one big set of fangs… and venom… and torture. I’m sure he did all he could to comfort me, but from where I stood—” She stopped short, refusing to relive it.

“That bad,” Brooke said solemnly.

“Oh yeah, that bad.”

“You wanted him dead?”

“Al Capone,” Tiffany said.

“Ew.”
Brooke grimaced, demonstrating her horror.

Whenever one of them said
Al Capone
, they each knew exactly what the other meant:
I want him
dead
. I want his family
dead
. I want his house burned to the
ground!

Brooke cleared her throat. After a prolonged moment of silence, she finally said, “So?”

Tiffany pretended to be ignorant and rolled her eyes. “So.”

Brooke bit her bottom lip. “Have you… ”

“Have we what?”

Brooke dove across the hot tub, punched her friend in the arm, and pointed right in her face. “You know what!”

Tiffany hunched forward and giggled, and then they both glanced toward the wall of sliding glass, trying to determine exactly where Ramsey and Napolean were in the living room, wanting to be sure their conversation was private.

“Well?” Brooke whispered, leaning close enough to Tiffany to almost touch noses.

Tiffany drew back. “Well, what?”

“Was it good?”
Brooke’s eyes were as wide as saucers as she waited for Tiffany’s answer.

Tiffany’s eyes rolled back in their sockets; she slid down the lounge chair like a limp rag doll; and her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth. “Holy…
shit
.”

Brooke clasped both hands over her mouth, and her bulging blue eyes lit up with intrigue. “That good?”

“Better,” Tiffany whispered.

Brooke’s mouth fell open. “Maxwell House or KFC?”

Tiffany laughed. “Both. Good to the last drop
and
finger-licking good!”

Brooke squealed. “Maxwell House
and
KFC! Holy shit!”

“Sh!” Tiffany hushed her, cringing as the glass door slid open and Ramsey Olaru, the immortal god of all things sex-related, peeked out onto the deck.

“You ladies all right?” he asked, eyeing them both suspiciously.

Brooke giggled. She stuck her finger in her mouth and made a great show of smacking her lips as she popped it out. “Just perfect,” she said, laughing conspiratorially. “Just discussing fried chicken.”

Tiffany burst out in laughter, and then abruptly cut it off.

Ramsey frowned, but before he could reply, Napolean stepped out onto the deck and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Don’t ask,” he said. “You don’t want to know.”

Ramsey eyed him sideways. “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much,” Napolean replied.

Ramsey smirked, leveling a heated gaze at Tiffany. “And don’t they know we can hear them at will… if we choose?”

Napolean shook his head briskly. “
No
,” he said in a deep, dark tenor, “you don’t want to go there, either.”

“Why not?” Ramsey grumbled.

Napolean shook his head again. “Because if Tiffany is anything like your queen, then you would be better off dining with a Dark One than eavesdropping on your mate, just because you can.”

“We can hear you!” Brooke called out from the hot tub, projecting her voice so it would carry above the jets.

Tiffany smiled. It was true. Even with the jets pumping and the blower circulating air, her new vampiric hearing was impeccable.

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Napolean said, flashing a far too gentle smile at his mate, considering who he was to the Vampyr.

Ramsey furrowed his brow. “So let me get this straight: We can’t eavesdrop on them, but they can eavesdrop on us?”

Napolean clapped his hand on Ramsey’s back and nodded. “You’re learning, son.”

“What was that?” Brooke asked, eyeing her mate inquisitively.

Napolean’s voice turned to pure, unadulterated silk. “You look ravishing in that bathing suit, my love,” he said.

Brooke instantly melted at his words. Her expression turned soft and inviting, and her eyes glazed over with love. “Thank you, my king,” she flirted.

Tiffany looked away.
Okay.
Well then…

As the males sauntered back into the house, Brooke squeezed in on the lounge chair, lying parallel to Tiffany. She sighed contentedly.

“You give me hope,” Tiffany said wistfully.

Brooke smiled. “How so?”

Tiffany patted Brooke’s leg. “Well, if you can tame Napolean, then maybe—”

“Oh, he’s anything but tame. Don’t get it twisted—Napolean still wears the pants in our house.”

Tiffany drew back and eyed her sideways. “So then, how does that work?”

Brooke waggled her eyebrows and grinned for all she was worth. “Because
we
wear the skirts!”

Tiffany laughed, and once again, they fell into a peaceful, easy silence.

After a few minutes had passed, Brooke reached out and took Tiffany’s hand, giving it a firm, loving squeeze. “So there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Tiffany’s eyebrows shot up. “Go on.”

“It’s just an idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Tiffany angled her head to see Brooke’s expression. “Okay. So?”

“So, have you and Ramsey talked about the pregnancy yet?” She glanced down at Tiffany’s stomach. “I mean, I imagine it will be soon considering the Curse and all… ”

Tiffany nodded. “Very soon.” She paused to reach forward, tap a button on the panel, and reset the jets for another cycle. “Why do you ask?”

Brooke took a slow, deep breath before speaking. “Because I think we should do it together.”

Tiffany’s left eyebrow shot up like a lone, rebel feature, undoubtedly distorting her appearance. “Uh, that just sounds really kinky, Brooke. Is there some vampire pastime that I’m unaware of? Because I don’t really swing that way.”

Brooke laughed out loud. “No, silly!” She pinched Tiffany on the arm. “I meant, I think we should both get pregnant
by our mates
, together, at the same time.”

Now this caught Tiffany’s attention. “When did you… have you talked to Napolean? Where is this coming from?”

Brooke squeezed Tiffany’s hand, and her voice grew serious. “Over the last several months. Of course we’ve talked about it, and it’s coming from a couple of places. Just hear me out, okay?”

Tiffany nodded.

“It’s not the same, being married to the king. Everything is such high stakes. There’s just a lot to consider.” She shimmied sideways, trying to secure a little more real estate on the lounge chair. “We’ve always wanted more children, but more than that, we both agree that we’ve placed little Phoenix in an untenable position.” She sighed. “Like it or not, the poor child practically has a target on his back: Anyone who wants to lash out at Napolean—or to hurt the house of Jadon—can simply go after the prince. There’s no other successor to the throne, so to speak. So, yeah, we’ve talked about how important it is to give Phoenix some siblings, to take some of that weight
and danger
off his tiny shoulders. And ever since that day in the park, when Ramsey killed that awful woman who was with Salvatore—” She stopped abruptly and shook her head, not really wanting to go there right now. “Besides, what if Phoenix doesn’t want to rule one day? What if he doesn’t want to be first? Shouldn’t he have a choice? And Napolean has
so much
to teach him. He’d be better off teaching several successors at once.”

Tiffany swallowed hard, ingesting Brooke’s words and weighing their meaning. “That makes a lot of sense, Brookie, but what about you? Are you ready for
two more
children?” Now that the initial sacrifice was over and done with, the royal couple could keep
all
their future children.

Brooke laughed. “Yeah, I am. I really am. Napolean and I are in a really good place, and it’s not like we don’t have lots of help if we want it. I think it’s time.”

Tiffany sat up and held her best friend’s gaze, trying to process all she was hearing. “So, you want to get pregnant
again
, at the same time as me?”

Brooke’s smile was radiant. “Our men can and do command the condition at will, you know? They can name the hour and the minute: Why not?”

Tiffany sank back into the steamy water and simply let the idea percolate in her head. “Huh.”
Why not, indeed?
“Do you realize that a few weeks ago, I was just your employee, Phoenix’s unofficial nanny, and your consummate best friend forever, of course; and now—”

“Oh, hell, Tiffany,” Brooke interrupted. “Less than two weeks ago, you were a total flake who took off into the forest on a giant horse, trying to outrun a vampire. I would say progress has been made on all fronts.”

Brooke’s words elicited more than a little laughter out of Tiffany, and then she grew suddenly quiet, glanced up at the magnificent sky, and stretched her back. “What do you say we just soak for a while and let it all sink in?”